All His Smiles
by 0ri
Summary: Yuki Eiri contemplates the meaning of Christmas. Written to melt your heart. In a good way. [one shot] [yuki x shuichi]


**ALL HIS SMILES**

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Why is it so difficult to smile?

Why is it so difficult to laugh? To feel at ease? To be calm and collected, unfazed when he comes around, all smiles for everyone to see in broad view – I'm a little jealous of his ability to do so. Shuichi is such an oblivious idiot. He doesn't know the hurt of the world, he doesn't know of how much pain others can cause – the very reason I've inclined myself into the void distant, far from where others can reach out to me.

I guess it wasn't far enough, since I'm having these thoughts; wasting my brain energy on that pink haired idiot.

I screwed up. Again.

You know, I'm not one to celebrate anything, and he should have at least known that. But I'm at more fault then he is. I shouldn't have lost it when I came home and was stunned by my own "decked halls". The streams of tacky green ribbon hanging from the ceiling, bits of red paper spilled all over the floors, angels thrown everywhere (I'm not even fucking catholic), liquid all across the fucking couch – it smelled like pop juice, or some thing.

And then he came, hopping about like a tornado, whirling towards me and knocking me over – my laptop, which I just had fixed because he broke it, screen got cracked as a result. I was so pissed, that words were spilling out of my mouth before I thought of them, poisoning his ears like snake venom – and he shifted off me, standing, yelling down that he was going to be gone on tour for the holidays, and he just wanted to make things brighter before he left.

Then, Shuichi stormed out, leaving me to myself.

I've been cleaning this crap for an hour now, thinking over our words – the hurt expression he gave me as I snapped has reeled me into guilt, and I know it's probably showing on my face, as plain as night and day. I pick up another red ribbon, and just to preoccupy my hands, I nervously fumble with it, shredding it as I do so.

I really, really do feel bad. And it's horribly embarrassing to admit – even in my head where all my thoughts are unheard.

"_How fucking stupid can you get, Shuichi?"_

I shut my eyes. My own voice hurts to recall.

"_Did you actually think I would like this crap?"_

I emit a sigh, letting the ribbon float from my grasp.

"_Well maybe you haven't noticed it yet, you dumb ass, that I am not the happygolucky type of person who will celebrate a hallmark holiday." _

My throat tingles for alcohol, and I stand up, leaving the mess momentarily behind to head to my fridge and grab a beer. It pops when it's opened, making a refreshing sizzling sound, beckoning me to drown in it.

"_You stupid fucking brat. I don't even want you here - all you do is reek of havoc and destroy everything I have, including my life."_

The cans pile up, one after another as I loose track of how much I drunk, and at some point during this time, I manage to make it to my bedroom and pass out.

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Only when the noon is cool and soft in the sky do I wake and, I find myself on the floor, dizzy and disoriented, I head to the bathroom, barfing up the contents in my stomach into the toilet. I shake as I stand, flushing the stupid thing and washing my mouth out at the sink. Throwing up barely made me feel better.

There is some faint hope within my cold being that Shuichi has returned to apologize, and I draw my hand across the wall to hold myself up as I stumble towards the kitchen, looking around the apartment for him. But He's no where in sight. I could call his friend Hiro and ask for him – But I have a headache, and if that asshole yells at me I really may just pass out again.

Instead, I reach for the phone, calling a different number.

"This is NG productions. Whom do you wish to speak?" A screechy voice says. Annoyed, I mutter,

"Seguichi Tohma."

"And why do you wish to speak to him?"

"It's my own business."

"Alright. I'm putting him on the line…." I wait a few seconds before some one else speaks.

"Hello?" Tohma's smooth vocals fill my ear, cleansing my clouded mind like a wave of clear water; so delicate and feminine, even with the line of the phone damaging his true voice. "Eiri-san?" He already knows it's me through my silent replies.

"Yes."

"Is some thing wrong? I'm a bit busy." I scoff.

"Well, so sorry to bother you." I retort, pulling out a chair from one of my tables and sitting down. A moan squeaks out from my throat from the sudden pressure on my abdomen, and I bend down to clutch my stomach as nausea hits me a little harder. I curse my stupidity at moving too quickly.

"Eiri? Are you alright? What's wrong?" I hear panic in his voice.

"…Fine." I finally whisper into the line. "Hang over." That's the only explanation I'll offer, but it seems to do him justice. He sighs a little into the phone.

"I can stop by if you like." Tohma offers gently. I shake my head even though he can't see.

"No, I don't need a babysitter. I called to ask when Bad Luck's tour is starting."

"Shuichi never told you?" He seems surprised. We both know Shuichi likes to talk _a lot,_ so missing a big detail about his life like that is a little peculiar. "Well…" He trails off. "They left today, at around 2:00 or some thing. They're probably long gone and on the plane… Sorry Eiri."

I frown. "Sorry for what?"

"You want to see Shindou-san, because you got into a fight, right?" His smile bubbles up in his voice. I can practically envision it all, his cocky grin playing on his lips as he holds his head up beneath the curve of his thin wrist.

"Shut up. No I don't, asshole, I just wanted to know if I needed to cook dinner for him since I don't know if he's coming home." Really crappy come back. I must be really sick. Pissed, I stand up and slam the phone on the receiver. At least I know he doesn't like being hung up on.

o

It seems like everyone on the whole fucking planet has lost it with this Christmas bullshit. 1 hour later of sitting on the now soda smelling couch and watching TV, I acquire the new information that some dumb ass lit a school on fire that had made its students attend the facility during the holidays (some strike or some thing, they had to make up days. I don't care.) And, in this act a great deal of the teenagers were injured, even though the pyromaniac's intention was to get everyone out of school. They just made firemen come in and bodies come out. Some kid died in the fire, and "many were sent to the hospitals to have injuries examined. Some are even now attending therapy to overcome the traumatizing experience." Just great.

So, I flip through channels reluctantly, avoiding looking at the colorful walls of my apartment and the cracked laptop that's sitting in my office. 5 minutes later, I've learned television isn't worth watching. Every channel is warped with happy holiday things, etc. I don't even want to think about it too much.

I stop at a channel finally not talking about the event that has infected this planet.

But it's worse then talking about Christmas.

I see Shuichi, singing his heart out, his pink hair sticking to his face from sweat, body glistening in it. He's hot with radiance, slinking his fingers along the microphone's cord, wrapping it around his wrists then jerking his body back, the cord uncoiling before him like a whip. The clothes he's wearing do little to cover his body – the ripped black shorts exposing more skin then I can bare, his shirt a faded out blue with only one sleeve. The side without the sleeve looks a bit stretched, since it's coming down his shoulder, revealing more of his perfect, dark skin.

I hate watching his performances. I hate what it does to me. I don't even hear the words rolling off his mouth, the crappy lyrics filling the ears of millions of fan girls and myself, booming through the speakers at maximum points. All I see is him, and I feel on my tongue his lips, his skin beneath my palms, his moans dripping from his mouth, desperate to be tasted. I can see how his eyes shine with lust as he looks up at me, begging to be taken, as he lays in the shadow my room, stretched beneath me on the covers.

It's not nearly as bad when I'm actually attending the concert - I don't get too horny or anything, I just watch, curious with how well he's doing the show. This is a live performance, and some thing is telling me it's the one he's doing right now for his tour.

He doesn't look the least bit distressed, to my disappointment. I'd… hoped that he'd be a little more broken by our fight yesterday. Unlike me, once again, he's unaffected, and has bounced right back up.

Disgusted, I shut off the television, feeling a bit sick again. I contemplate smoking, and approve of it, even though it'll probably make me throw up again later; it's still relief against letting my mind wander.

Tomorrow is Christmas, and as I have the past 5 years, I will be spending it alone.

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Despite feeling like crap, I wake up rather early. Subconsciously, I feel around for Shuichi's figure, stopping after not feeling it, and remembering it's not supposed to be there. Little punk has made me so accustomed to his presence…

I turn over, rummaging the bedside table for my glasses without leaning up and looking at the draw. I feel them with my fingers, picking them out and placing them carefully on my face.

Groggily, I look at the alarm. It's 8 am.

For a time, I continue to try going back to sleep. I toss and turn from side to side, keen on finding a comfortable position. I settle on lying on my stomach and crossing my arms beneath my face and resting my head down in them – but I still don't fall asleep. I just lie there, in the wake of the morning.

After awhile, I realize I'm not going to fall asleep and get up, heading to the bathroom to take a shower.

Water is the most sensual thing in the world. I shutter as liquid runs down my exposed skin, heating up my temperature a few degrees. Steam dances away from my body, twisting and curling like old flags, within them my worries drift, and I go into a daze, on the boundary between reality and, what is, I'm not even sure. What I wish there was, I suppose.

Then the dream ends. Reality comes back into raw view, puncturing a hole through my chest.

I swagger out of the shower, shutting the water off, and grabbing a towel, tossing it on the floor. Spreading it out, I flop down on it, still sleepy from the waters warmth and perfectly content with just sitting in the middle of my bathroom floor lazily. I reach for another towel, wrapping it around myself and lying down… For just a second. I'll be up soon...

I only wake when my body has become clammy and cold. Quivering, I stand, noting I'm already dry, and stepping out of the bathroom, towel and all. I toss it casually onto the bed, pull up some briefs and then flip around my cloths for some loose slacks. My hands stop, and I think for a moment.

Turning, I go for another drawer, taking up a finer piece of clothing instead – ink black pants and a slick, silken white shirt. I go off towards the bedside table, pulling out my watch from a drawer and slapping it onto my wrist. Making my way out of my room and to the front door, I take my last article of clothing; a thick dark black jacket. My pair of sunglasses is still in one of the pockets, along with my apartment's keys and the keys to my Mercedes. Opening the door and, slipping the glasses up the bridge of my noise as I shut it, I leave.

I find that I actually don't know where I'm going, for once. I'm quite the house hermit. I hate coming out, so when I do, I know exactly where I'm going – to avoid any extra time I could spend out in the suburban area.

Everything is bloated with holiday shit. Christmas lights, trees, candles, ect. Almost every shop has one of those popular logos, like "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays". It's so commercialized. I laugh at the sad idiots dressed in Santa suites, desperate for money or even pocket change. It's such bull shit. But what was I expecting? Everything in our lives is monopolized by common opinion.

I mean, what's the point of it all?

Who really cares?

o

Some people find the city romantic and calming. Some people find the city upbeat and happy. Some people, people like Shuichi, find it homey and comforting. I find it just shitty. A person can only take so much car exhaust in their lungs, and so many unfamiliar voices in their ears.

Japan is swamped with crowds – seriously. I don't know why so many people choose to live in this country. There isn't much likable about it, from my perspective. Every goddamn place is the same; we're still on the same planet – so why not move to one with less people?

The only reason why I'm still in Japan is because of Shui… Because it would be annoying moving to another country and starting over my reputation as a writer. Yeah, that's it. And plus, I can speak English fluently, probably better then most native English speaking people, I'm sure, but a lot of the knowledge I have on my own language would just be lost if I took up writing in English. I do take some pleasure in knowing I have quite the extensive vocabulary – I know words big enough to make Shuichi's head ache.

And now I'm thinking of the brat again. Why am I out here?

Tokyo is quilted in pallid blankets, but instead of bringing warm they chill. It's rare, even at this time of year, for Tokyo to be so cold; although, even with such dramatic degrees, the streets are bustling of people. Mostly dim witted couples, holding hands, looking happy in their own little words. I hang my head as I walk, preferring not to look up at the masses as I move.

I don't know how long I walk, and I still don't know where I'm going. I only look up once my feet have grown numb.

I'm at the park.

It's always this same place I end up, as if gravity itself wishes for me to be here. This is the place I stay at whenever I want silence, the place I go to whenever I need to kill my writers block and get some thoughts out, this is also, the same place, where I met that brat who's surgically glued himself to me.

I move towards a bench, feeling myself shutter as the wind blows. I lift my hand and brush some snow off the wood, sitting down and sleepily looking out into the white horizon. This place is mythical, in a way, how it brings me here even when I don't think once of coming. I guess it reminds me a little of central park – the place Sensei and I always used to stay together for studying.

Sensei loved the park; and I always found myself going there on a mere whim that he'd be there, relaxing with ease against one of the oak trees, his light coffee-colored hair strew into his face, blocking out his dark eyes. He'd always look up at me and... smile whenever I came to him.

Occasionally I wonder if I was just an object to him.

But I shouldn't be thinking of Yuki. I already feel bad for what happened with Shuichi, and I'm only going to suffer more if I captivate myself in my memories.

And, glancing at my fingers, I can see the tips have turned a faint blue, and it's traveling up towards my knuckles. Involuntarily, I gasp when seeing this, just then aware of how I've practically begun to freeze out here.

I get some thing of a headache when I stand back up, and my knees almost buckle over and make me collapse back into the seat. Regaining my composure, though, firmly I move towards the railing, trailing my icy fingers across the slick bar, consumed in hoarfrost. Removing my hands, I shuffle them into my coat pockets. I can hear my breath as it shakes when inhaling and exhaling. I know I really am going to freeze if I don't get back to my flat soon.

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My heart skips a beat at the sight of the familiar apartment within my reach – I've finally made it. Damn smoker's lung. No matter, though. I shamble through the doors, to an elevator, through the hallway, and to the entrance of my apartment. I take out my keys and unlock the door, pushing it inward, when-

"**SURPRISE** EIRI!"

I nearly have a heart attack. Some thing comes whizzing at me, and it shoves into my chest and knocks me backwards into the opposite wall. I feel myself slide down the wall, panting, holding myself up with one hand and gawking down at the creature that attacked me.

"Yuki!" Shuichi… what. The. Fuck.

"What the hell-"

"Yuki! You're freezing! Your cheeks are all red! So are your ears!" Shuichi sniffles, his violet eyes wide and full of concern. He suddenly giggles and grabs my ears – and I choke on the words I was just about to speak and quickly throw him off, my heart pounding in my chest. I clutch my ears and glare at him. He knows he's _not_ supposed to touch them if we're not fucking.

I look back up in the doorway, where a sea of people eagerly peak out, squeezing between one another to get a glimpse of what's happened. I recognize Tatsuha, Tohma, Mika, Nakano, that green haired kid who plays the synthesizer for Shuichi's band… But there looks like there are more people behind them. I dart my eyes towards Tohma, who's just smiling his happy little fake smile, as always. "What the hell is going on here?"

I don't really know who that question is directed at, but I also don't give a damn as long as I get an answer. Shuichi supplies this answer, bouncing back up on his feet. "It's a party!" He chirps, clasping his hands together, looking bubbly and cheerful as he skips towards me like some sort of faerie. "Yuki! I set up this party for you so you wouldn't be alone! Plus I wanted a party…" Shuichi's sentence trails off as he looks away, his eyes dashing back at me, smothered in sadness. "Are you mad, Yuki?" He kneels in front of me, clutching my cheeks. "You know, you look really pale."

"No, I'm not mad. But I was told by _some one_ you were on tour today." My narrowed eyes shift to Tohma, and he smiles and laughs a little bit.

"Eiri-san it was just to add onto the surprise." The crowd by the doorway diminishes a bit, and to my relief, I can see that my apartment hasn't been completely massacred. Tohma then waves his hand to me and Shuichi, silently beckoning us. "You two should come inside." He then leaves the doorway, calling after Mika about some thing.

Still confused, I look back and Shuichi. "I guess I have some explaining to do, huh?" He questions in a quiet voice.

"As do I." I add, and he peaks up. I sigh, taking a breath and carefully picking out my words. "Look… I thought you were mad with me… after I… Said all that…"

"Oh…"

"I'm sorry, Shuichi." I take his hands up in mine – grazing my thumbs over his knuckles. He flinches a little bit, and when I feel kind of rejected when he does. But he shakes his head no, obviously noticing the hurt that probably crossed my face for that instant.

"Your hands are just really cold." He smiles, pulling closer so that our noses are almost touching. "And I wasn't mad. Well, I kind of was, but I got over it. I know you didn't mean it. Besides, I sort of deserved it. This is your apartment…"

I let go of his hands and wrap my arms around him, his small figure locked in my embrace. "It's _our_ apartment." I whisper. I feel Shuichi grin against the cloth of my shirt. He then mumbles,

"Yuki, did you really think I'd leave you alone on Christmas?"

I'm silent for a moment. "…Yes."

"Then you give my love far too little credit then. I'd never leave you, especially on Christmas." He lifts his head, pressing our foreheads together. As he speaks, his breathe coats my lips, his mouth parting and brushing against mine with every word. "I_ love_ you."

I feel dazed, drugged on his words. We just stay there, holding onto each other, lost in space and time. Thankfully, he's not expecting a response, and just pulls back, standing and taking my hand. "Now! Let's get you some hot coco Yuki, you do look really pale. You shouldn't have gone out." He giggles. "Yuki was so worried about me he got sick."

"Idiot," I say, but I feel myself smiling. A little. It really doesn't make a lot of sense that he's here, when I did see him on that live performance on Tv... Perhaps it was just a concert. Oh well, I'll ask him later when I care.

Shuichi spins around, snapping me out of my world, pecking my lips, grasping my hand and bolting inside.

Maybe Christmas isn't so bad after all.

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Fucking fanfiction and their fucking spacing issues. Oh well. This story was really happy. Merry Christmas to those who care, anyhow. I hope you enjoyed it. Maybe I should have added a violent sex scene at the end...? Happy stories like this just aren't me. Oh well. I hope it made you happy. Put your stupid smile on. That's it.

K. Well, please review. x3 Otherwise I won't know if you liked it or not. Yeeee!


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